


Fuck the government

by MilkJrug



Category: Realicide - Grej (Web Series), The Centricide (Webseries)
Genre: 1984, Canon Non-Binary Character, Comfort, Cuddling, Drug Use, Fluff, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, If all goes well I might write a chapter that is :eyes emoji:, Let me have my fun shh, Multi, Neo Pronouns, Weed, crackship, nb ingsoc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 00:20:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29941614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MilkJrug/pseuds/MilkJrug
Summary: I had an idea at 3 am one night and I was instantly hooked, so yeah.Ingsoc spends some time with... The Anarchist polycule.
Relationships: AS I SAID. CRACKSHIP., Anarchist Polycule (Centricide), Anarcho-Communist/Anarcho-Queer (Centricide), Anarcho-queer/Ingsoc
Comments: 3
Kudos: 18





	Fuck the government

**Author's Note:**

> I can’t believe I wrote as much as I did for this what the fuck. I didn’t even get to write everything I wanted to because I got so excited to post. I want to do another chapter that is just... all of them cuddling up to each other and talking and just... vibing. Might even throw in another unexpected guest who definitely should not be hanging around so happily with anarchists. Who knows.
> 
> ALSO PLEASE COMMENT I'D LOVE SOME FEEDBACK.

When joining the anarchist polycule, Ancom - now Post Left - had been given a quick talk on the dynamic of the group and what to expect. It was relatively normal stuff, such as the personalities and quirks of the other polycule members, pointing out seating arrangements, and discussing boundaries. One thing that Ancom had expected, but had never ceased to be amazed by, was exactly how open the ‘open relationship’ was. Of course, any new partner had been discussed with, and approved by, the other members of the polycule, but the partners that managed to work their way into the anarchists’ hearts were always a shock to quem. Some partners were dedicated but elusive, and others were distant romantically but always around, almost like friend with benefits, but the ones that Ancom could not seem to get over were the ones that sought out the polycule for… release. Mysterious one-night stands that would come back time and time again to take advantage of the uncomfortably nonjudgmental environment that was the polycule’s basement. Those ones were always the weirdest...

...

“They’re here again.” 

Ancom and Anqueer are walking down the stairs of the basement when Anmon approaches them, gesturing to an awkwardly hunched figure sitting among the other polycule members. Anqueer seems to understand the situation almost immediately, jumping down the last few steps to quickly remove their gloves, mask, and hoodie, all of which are covered in blood from their most recent fash-bashing outing.

“Wait, who’s here again?” Ancom tilts quis head, glancing between Anmon and Anqueer in confusion. Anqueer simply gestures with a hand for quem to follow before they practically run over and jump onto the beanbag beside the unfamiliar figure. The rest of the polycule reacts to this, some of their heads bobbing in acknowledgement, others flinching in surprise, and the Anarcho Pacifist throws her arms up with a grin when she sees Anqueer has returned home. The figure does not. The raven-haired entity doesn’t even react when Anqueer wraps a strong arm around their shoulders, pulling them closer in a teasing manner. It’s clear that the dynamic between the polycule and… whoever this was had been built up over a long time.

Anmon chuckles, rubbing the back of his head as he helps Ancom out of quis bloodied clothes. He dumps them in a basket with all the other soiled clothes of the polycule, before turning back to face quem, “Oh, it’s an off compass friend of ours. Don’t freak out; they’re just repressed.”

“Off compass?” This term creates more questions than it does answer them for Ancom, and qui shuffles to the side a bit to get a better look. Pressed up against the wall of the basement qui begins quis approach, slowly sliding over to get a look at the person that would be presumably joining them for their nightly activities. 

Qui stops dead in quis tracks as the off compass speaks up, their head snapping over to gaze up at quem. “And who is the new member of your group?”

Qui swallows audibly as qui takes in the appearance of quis new acquaintance. Their face is long and hollow, cheekbones defined, and their skin is ghostly and pale colour. Qui could have mistaken them for a dead man had the red glow of their eyes not carried so much life; the neon trail of a v over their right eye pulsed in time with the beat of their heart. Their gaze is strong and unwavering, but behind their eyes is a hint of nervousness, one that mirrors Ancom’s own as qui shifts over to sit with the group.

Anprim laughs, pointing his comically large bone up at the off compass as he begins to talk, “If camera man see everything, then why camera man no see new partner?”

A lighthearted chuckle spreads through the crowd of anarchists, and finally the authoritarian’s steely demeanour drops. Their lips twitch up into a smile, and they huff in amusement, “I did see your new partner, actually. I simply thought that it would be more polite to ask rather than greet quem with ‘Hello, I have been watching you for a very long time’.”

The laughter in the group grows in volume, with even Ancom joining, though mostly out of unease. There was no way that the polycule seriously let in an off compass, let alone a hyper-authoritarian like-

“Ingsoc! Would you like some tea?” Calls out Anmon from across the room, interrupting Ancom’s train of thought.

“Yes. No milk, no sugar.”

The monarchist nods, turning back to the mouldy table that had a kettle and some boxes stacked on top of it. “You’re allowed ‘luxuries’ here, remember? Our treat.”

Ingsoc seems to debate with themself for a moment before nodding, holding up two fingers, “Fine. I shall have it with milk and two sugars, then.”

Satisfied with their answer, Anmon turns back to making drinks for the polycule.

“So…” Begins Anqueer, their free hand running through their hair as the other draws circles in the authoritarian’s shoulder, “What made you drop in unannounced? Postie and I were just out, so you almost missed us!”  
Ingsoc huffs in amusement at this. Right, they would have known that. Ancom can’t help but stare, studying the auth’s face curiously as their composure rapidly shifts. At first they had come across as menacing and strong-willed, and then shifted to looking somewhat more inviting, but as Anqueer’s hand shifts from their shoulder to the back of their neck their face seems to sag more. They look tired.

“The realicide waits for no man. I have had my work cut out for me since agreeing to move into a house with the other anti-realists.” They almost growl, wiping their face with a hand as they begin to bounce their leg, “I am getting restless waiting for orders. I simply sit on standby and watch the camera feed to make sure we aren’t ambushed, but if anything that is my secondary purpose. They treat me as some sort of alibi, using what I have seen to solve petty arguments and nothing more...”

They lift their tired eyes from the floor as Anmon taps their shoulder lightly, holding out a cup of warm tea. They nod as they take it, large hands wrapping around the too-small mug as they lean in to take a sip.

“Long week, huh?” Chimes in Mutualist from across the circle of anarchists, gesturing vaguely with all four of her arms. Ingsoc nods in response to this, sighing deeply into their drink as Anqueer moves to stroke the back of their head. 

There was no way that this was happening. Ancom couldn’t believe quis eyes as qui watched Ingsoc, the peak of totalitarianism, lean into the comforting touch of Queer Anarchism, who seemed genuinely concerned for their friend(?)’s well being. There was something so surreal about seeing the embodiment of everything that qui hated leaning its head against quis partner’s shoulder, closing its eyes as it relaxed in their arms.

“Did smelly red man leave gift on milk boy bed again?” Asks Anprim from the floor. He shifts his legs from side to side as he looks up at the auth, the usual primitive glare replaced with curiosity.

“I wish it were that simple. Property squabbles”

All the anarchists groan in unison, understanding exactly how that must play out between a man that takes what pleases him, a man that stakes claim to whatever he thinks that he deserves, and a person that believes everything belongs to them already. While the anarchists are more likely to agree with one of those viewpoints than the other two, it doesn’t stop them from being able to sympathise with the stressed auth.

Anfash, who was originally on his way out just before Ingsoc arrived, finally makes an input. “Who won?” he asks with a grin, crossing his arms as he leans against the nearest wall.

Catching on to his amusement, Ingsoc opens an eye, “You think that I gave them the chance to find me?” They muffle a chuckle in the crook of Anqueer’s neck as they continue to speak, “I saw them coming to my room and I climbed out the window. I came straight here.”

“Does this happen often…?” Ancom looks for an answer in the eyes of quis fellow anarchists, scanning the crowd before landing on Ingsoc. Qui swallows as they meet quis gaze; they seem to pick up on each other’s uneasiness, neither wanting to make the next move. 

“Yeah, ‘Soc is here, like, every other month.” Says Anqueer, giving a casual flick of their wrist as the rest of the group nods. “What, was it December when we last saw you? When we had to teach you what Christmas was, remember”

“I cannot exactly forget. I do not want to hear one more lecture about how Christmas is simply Capitalist propaganda.”

“And it’s the best time to bash in the skulls of said Capitalists!” Yells the Anarcho Nihilist from across the room, raising a middle finger for emphasis. “No better time to fuck over a CEO than when they are making the most!” Ingsoc rolls their eyes as all the other anarchists cheer at this, laughing as Anqueer playfully punches the Auth’s shoulder. Annih bows dramatically before making his way over to the rest of the group, carrying a tray of baked goods with him. He places it down on the floor before blowing a chef’s kiss and nudging the tray with his foot, “Brownies for those that want ‘em. You know the deal.”

There’s a mad scramble for the drug-laced confectionaries, with very few of the anarchists abstaining from stuffing their faces with the Nihilist’s super secret special “weed” brownies. The air quotations are mandatory, as quite honestly, I don’t think even he knows what drugs he’s putting in them. 

With a slice of brownie already stuffed under quis mask, Ancom sits back, allowing quis body to relax in the embrace of the cheap beanbag. As qui chews quis mouthful, qui glances around the circle that has formed around quem. Grug, the smallest in the polycule, has shifted from his place on the floor to tug on one of mutualist’s arms, his green eyes wide as a silent plead for them to leave together. Mutualist obliges, straightening out her bright orange dress as she stands to leave. The two wave as they take the stairs out of the basement and up into the main house. Anmon, seeing that Grug had left, adjusts his crown and grabs the blunt cosplay sword from beside him, practically skipping up the stairs after them. This just leaves Annih, Anpac, Anqueer, Anfash, quemself, and… IngSoc.

“Come on, old man, take one!” 

“What?”

Ancom’s gaze is snapped away from the staircase as the nihilist stands up, shoving a brownie - a very large one - towards the auth. IngSoc seems to be taken off guard by this, their expression closely resembling that of a lost puppy. They scowl up at the Nihilist, who simply grins and prods the corner of the mouth with the brownie.

“I used dark chocolate and everything. Come on, you know you want too~”

IngSoc is very clearly unimpressed by the anarchist’s cooing, and they swat his hands away, “The only drugs fit for consumption are the ones that boost productivity. They are harmless. This is-“

“Also harmless. Come on, old man, just one?”

There is a beat of silence, and it really does seem as if the auth is considering it. Ancom notes the look that Anqueer gives Annih, almost like a warning not to push too far as the brownie slowly gets closer again. Qui understands that IngSoc likely won’t harm the nihilist, but… damn he has some balls to be fucking with a man that could erase you from existance just by speaking.

“Just. One.” They finally grumble from behind gritted teeth.

The brownie is unceremoniously plopped into the open hand of the authoritarian as Annih whoops triumphantly. Another dub for the anarchist polycule. A knowing giggle passes around the room as the authoritarian takes a bite out of the brownie. And another. And another. They’re still sulking even once it’s gone, bitterly licking the remains from their fingers as if they didn’t want another. 

“Have you ever been high, ‘Soc?” Asks Anqueer as they slip their hand back into IngSoc’s hair. They give them a dopey smile as they ruffle the neatly gelled style out of place, chuckling as the surprisingly long and greying hair flops over their eyes.

The auth huffs, blowing some hair out of their eyes before answering, “No… No I have not.”

The Nihilist practically squawks, slapping his knee as he bursts into a fit of laughter. Oh boy these brownies are kicking in fast.

“What? What is so funny?” 

The Nihilist grins like the idiot he is, wiping a humoured tear from his eye as he gasps and recovers, “Pack your bags, white boy, because you’re going on one hell of a trip.”

As Ancom begins to feel relaxed and weightless in quis seat, it is clear to see that the drugs are beginning to have the opposite effect on quis authoritarian friend. Annih’s words seem to have struck a nerve in them, and their lidded eyes suddenly grow wide. They sit up, clutching at their trousers as they make an alarmed noise. This seems to amuse the Nihilist, though his smug expression is quickly shot down by Anqueer, who turns to whisper some words to the auth.

“It’s fine… Nothing bad will happen as long as you relax. He’s just power tripping…”

Ancom sighs, closing quis eyes for a moment as qui sinks further into quis high. It’s nothing special, nothing like how they describe it in novels or films. There are no spinning colours or fancy visions, just the feeling of distance. From quis body? From quis mind? Qui can never be quite sure, but high man’s thoughts are a sober man’s… that’s not the saying. Qui doesn’t know how much time had passed between quem closing and opening their eyes, but when qui finally does, qui is greeted with a much more peaceful sight.

Anfash is propped up against the wall where he had once been standing, his arms crossed over his chest as he gazes blankly at the polycule members. Annih has made himself comfortable in the arms of the pacifist, who strokes his hair in a similar manner to someone petting a cat. A feral cat, of course. Annih’s more of a possum, actually. To quis left, Anqueer sits with the auth’s head in their lap, as IngSoc, now missing the collar around their neck and their chunky platform heels, stares up at them. With a sigh, Ancom pulls quemself to quis feet, taking a few slow steps over to sit on the beanbag beside them both. It’s difficult to fit three people on a beanbag, but the ones that the anarchists had acquired (stolen, of course) were rather large, so they managed. Ancom ended up with the Auth’s legs either side of quem and Anqueer’s hand in quis hair. 

This… Wasn’t too bad. Qui could get used to this.


End file.
